


This Same Stage (With You)

by virdant



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Gen, Johnny's & Associates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9111508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: When Katsuki Yuuri was 10, his sister had thought it a great joke to print out an application for Johnny's and Associates and mail it in. She had stolen his latest school photo, snuck into his parent's filing cabinet to find the requisite information, and mailed it in, all within one short week. By the end of the year, Yuuri had been invited to train in Tokyo as a newly minted Johnny's Junior. That, at least, is the story that Yuuri tells.Or:A Boyband AU where Yuuri is in a boyband, Viktor is still the top men’s figure skater, yet somehow they still manage to stand on the same ice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically an AU of an AU, but I'm still working on my monster boyband AU, so have a J&A AU instead while I continue to work on that one.

_Tamori: Let’s go to Katsuki-kun. Katsuki-kun, you also studied ballet as a child, correct?_  
_Katsuki: Ah, yes, I did. With Okukawa Minako-san, when I was still living in Hasetsu._  
_Hironaka Ayaka: How exciting! Okukawa-sensei is very well respected internationally as well, isn’t she?_  
_Katsuki: Ah, yes. Yes, she is._  
_Tamori: She made a big impact on you, didn’t she?_  
_Katsuki: Yes. Yes, I liked it a lot. I even thought, that maybe if I hadn’t joined the agency, that maybe I would be a ballet dancer or an ice skater. I love how graceful they are, and can only hope that our performance reflects some of that grace._  


*

“Yuri-kun!” the girls outside of the stadium screeched in truly impressive harmony. “Yuuuuri-kun, I love you!”

Having braved the crowd earlier, Viktor couldn’t help being impressed as their screams made it through the supposedly soundproof windows. He glanced out, and then turned back to Christophe. “I’m not sure if I should be offended. Yuri isn’t even here.”

Yuri might have been in Japan, but he wasn’t performing, not with his gold medal from Junior Worlds a few scant weeks ago. Viktor didn’t think that Yuri’s fangirls were quite passionate enough to show up at an event which Yuri wasn’t competing, let alone attending. 

Chris grinned wryly back. “Weird to have fangirls outside the stadium that aren't cheering for us.” He stretched, casually.

“Yuri’s Angels are truly astonishing,” Viktor mused, keeping a careful eye on Yakov as he shouted at Georgi. 

“I don't think they're for Yuri.”

“No,” Victor agreed. He glanced out the window, and the hordes of girls clutching fans and placards to their chests. Not a single national flag was in sight. “No,” he said again, more quietly, “I don't think they are.”

*

When Katsuki Yuuri was 10, his sister had thought it a great joke to print out an application for Johnny's and Associates and mail it in. She had stolen his latest school photo, snuck into his parent's filing cabinet to find the requisite information, and mailed it in, all within one short week.

Yuuri was a short chubby boy from Kyushu, from a little-known town in Kyushu named Hasetsu that nobody knew or cared to know about. Growing up in Hasetsu, Yuuri was intimately familiar with every single street and over three-quarters of its inhabitants. Hasetsu’s only claim to fame, in Kyushu, let along the rest of Japan, was Okukawa Minako and her Benois de la Danse.

They should have seen his photo and the ratio between his height and weight and thrown his application straight into the trash.

Yet somebody in the agency—a producer, a choreographer, a manager—somebody recognized Okukawa-san’s name and Okukawa-san’s ballet studio and by the end of the year, Yuuri had been invited to train in Tokyo as a newly minted Johnny's Junior. His parents couldn’t leave the inn, but when middle school started he was attending a school in Tokyo and living with a distant aunt.

Yuuri never looked back.

That, at least, is the story that Yuuri tells.

*

Viktor had his own share of fangirls. Chris too. But neither of them had quite been prepared for the onslaught surrounding the stadium.

“So who are they here for?” Michele asked as he made his way to the lounge area where the rest of them were mingling in various stages of stretching. “Is your little protégé visiting or something?”

Viktor shook his head. Unless something had changed, Yuri Plisetsky was happily visiting his grandfather for his two week break. He was undoubtedly also skating, since they never _stopped_ , but Yuri was officially on vacation and under strict orders to not practice any quads on his own.

“They’re Japanese,” Cao Bin offered, squinting out the window. Somehow, in the past hour, the fangirls seemed to have multiplied. They clutched their fans to their chest, Japanese faces in various stages of smolder printed on in glossy high-contrast color. “But I don’t know any Japanese figure skaters named Yuri.”

“Who are Japanese representatives this year?” Chris asked. “Is one of them named Yuri, maybe?”

“One is called Minami,” Cao Bin said. “I think.”

Viktor twisted his hips. “We can always ask one of them. They’re local,” Viktor said cheerfully. “They might know who this Yuri is.”

*

Minami knew who Yuuri was. Minami probably should have been ashamed of how well he knew the Yuuri that the fangirls outside were cooing over. Instead, Minami was using his connection of having been invited as one of Japan’s men’s figure skating representatives to get personally acquainted with Katsuki Yuuri.

“Yuuri-kun,” Minami squeaked, practically gushing, “I’m so happy that you’re performing today!” He rocked back on his heels before rolling onto his toes, practically vibrating out of his skin in delight.

Yuuri smiled back, nonplussed. He very politely did not make a pleading face at his manager, who had _encouraged_ Minami Kenjirou’s approach. “It’s an honor to perform here as well. I hope that everybody enjoys the performance.”

“I heard that you learned how to skate just for this performance!”

Yuuri, well aware of his manager’s expression, said with a mild smile plastered on his face, “I hope you enjoy it.”

He let out a little breathless coo in delight. “I still can’t believe it! I love all of your songs! I can’t believe that you’re actually _performing_ for Japan’s ice skating team.” He rocked back and forward again, reaching out as if to clasp Yuuri’s hands.

Yuuri stepped back and bowed. “Thank you for the support,” he said, mouth carved into a perfect smile. 

This time, Yuuri’s manager stepped forward. “We should be getting back,” he said.

Yuuri said, “Ah.” He bowed, again, to Minami. “Ganbatte, Minami-san,” he said, before walking forward without looking back.

*

As Minami clearly wasn’t showing up, Chris went hunting for the other Japanese representatives. Despite Viktor’s protests, he was dragged along. (“For your charm and persuasive powers,” Chris said, which Viktor thought was extremely misleading.)

Still, Chris probably had the right idea, Viktor admitted. Only a few moments after Viktor had been dragged off, Chris had found some of the Japanese girls in a giggling corner, and promptly shoved Viktor at them.

“Who’s Yuri?” Viktor asked, after they had complemented each other and commented about how excited everybody was to be at Worlds, how honored Japan was to host, and all of the other pleasantries. “I keep hearing his name, but I didn’t think that there was anybody competing named Yuri…”

Miyamoto, one of the figure skaters, giggled and said, “He’s not a skater. Or at least, not a professional.”

“Miyamoto likes them.” Honda whispered conspiratorially. “Miyamoto and the rest of Japan.”

She flushed. “They really are very talented!” she squeaked.

Honda said, “They’re Johnny’s. A… what’s the word?”

“Boyband,” Miyamoto said, practically scarlet. “Two Yuri.” She fumbled for her phone, pulled up a picture, and showed them. Two boys stared out of the screen, their faces twisted into soft pouting smiles. The text underneath them said: 2-Yu-Ri. “They’re both named Yuri.”

“Both of them?” Chris asked, peering over Miyamoto’s shoulder.

She nodded, and then squeaked. “They released a single! To celebrate the World Championship being held in Japan. It’s being used as our fight song?” She twisted her mouth a little as she tried to find the right words. “An encouragement song.”

Honda added, “I think they’re performing later today. Something showing support.” 

“I hope they don’t fall!” Miyamoto squeaked again. She clutched her phone to her chest and warbled, “They learned _ice skating_ for us.”

*

“Why,” Chiba Yuri drawled, “do we have to perform in ice skates?”

“Kisumai performs in roller skates all the time,” Katsuki Yuuri said, unhelpfully, to his skates. He laced them up, the movements strangely familiar. Well, of course they were, after the weeks of intensive practice so they didn’t embarrass themselves on the ice, he better find the act of lacing up a pair of ice skates familiar.

Chiba, having managed to avoid all of the actual, professional, skaters, was already in his outfit, skates perfectly laced. He stretched his arms behind his head and sighed, entirely too melodramatically, “This is entirely your fault, Katsu-kun. Kisumai could be stuck skating on the ice. They’d probably be good at it.”

Yuuri looked up. “You’re good at it, Chii-kun.”

“It’s the ballet training,” he agreed with a small, secretive smile. He didn’t toss his hair back, but only because it was gelled in place. “And luckily the choreography isn’t that hard.”

The choreography was practically juvenile compared to some of their other songs, which aggressively made use of their ability to both perform triple pirouettes. It was amazing how putting them in skates and on slippery ice simplified their choreography to the point that they only had to skate in circles—forwards, and backwards—occasionally stopping to sing.

“You didn’t have to tell Johnny-san that you used to ice skate.”

Yuuri muttered, “He already knew. It was in my application.”

“I’m convinced everybody would have forgotten if you didn’t bring it up backstage last tour, and Kisumai would have gotten this single instead. Or Ebi.”

Yuuri said, “But you’re glad it’s us.”

The years as trainees together, and then as a debuted group had given them far too much insight into each other. 2-Yu-Ri was, like all Johnny’s groups, massively successful, even though their main success hinged primarily on their ability to perform triple pirouettes in unison. Chiba liked to insist that his falsetto made them memorable and Yuuri liked to point out that they spent only half of the usual time with choreographers thanks to their ballet training and their ability to pick up on complex choreography quickly. Either way, many years meant that both Yuris had spent many a post-concert evening getting drunk in hotel rooms and rejoicing that they hadn’t been put into the far too massive Heisei group.

“Wouldn’t it be horrible if we were defined entirely by our birthdate?” Chiba said blithely. “At least we’re being defined entirely by our first name.”

“We could be defined by our birth region,” Yuuri offered. “Kyuushu-Chuubai Boyz?”

“Chuu-Kyuu Brothers,” Chiba suggested.

Yuuri grinned.

“Less nervous?”

His smile wavered a little. “How did you know?”

Chiba laughed. “You’re always nervous before a performance, Katsu-kun.” He stood up, wobbling dangerously on the skates before he regained his balance. “How long have we known each other now?”

Yuuri said, “Over ten years,” softly. He stood up too, and they bowed their heads at each other in habit. Yuuri’s fingers clutched at Chiba’s forearms, and his hands clutched back. He took a deep fortifying breath. “Ganbatte, Yuuri.”

“Ganbatte, Yuuri.”

*

Viktor absently eyed the 2-Yu-Ri performance over the screen, while stretching out in preparation for his short program. Half of the crowd seemed far more enthused than the other half. Viktor could guess which half was here for the ice skating and which was for the two pretty boys skating in circles around each other while lip syncing to a pop song piped over the speakers.

It was close enough to the actual competition that none of the others were talking anymore, each focused on their own routines. Still, Viktor couldn’t help but watch the performance, sneaking glances at the broadcast as he stretched and mentally ran through his short program. For twenty-year-olds who had just learned how to skate, they were surprisingly graceful, but he supposed that was what they were paid to be. One of the Japanese representatives was almost obscenely focused on the screen, his coach making despairing faces by his side as she tried to get him to look away.

Yakov said, “Focus, Vitya,” and Viktor smiled easily back.

He did focus though, and when he stood on the ice he danced.

*

“Wow,” Chiba said, wiggling his toes in his socks with a cat-like air of satisfaction, having shucked off the skates as soon as he was safely out of sight. “So that’s what real ice skating is like.”

Yuuri asked, “Haven’t you seen it on television before?” They were taking advantage of hard-won free time to watch the men’s figure skating, safely backstage. Yuuri hadn’t needed to look at the audience to guess how many people would be wandering the halls in search of backstage access; the squeals were more than enough. Even though both of them had stripped out of the skates as soon as possible, they were dressed for the meet-and-greet scheduled later with Japan’s representatives.

“Do you have time for leisurely hobbies?” Chiba demanded, eyebrow raised. “Teach me your tricks, senpai.”

He hunched into his shoulders a little, before feeling the prickling stare of his manager from at least a hallway and three rooms away. He shifted, posture straightening like he was ten and in Minako’s ballet studio. “I like watching figure skating.”

“Pretty mortifying to have done our little choreo before that.” Chiba stared, wide-eyed, as the contestant on-screen launched into a quad. The delight in the announcer’s voice was palpable even through the low volume the TV was set at. “Who even thought that this was a good idea?”

Yuuri shrugged.

“Did you mean it?” Chiba said, suddenly.

“Mean what?”

“What you said at M Sute filming.” They had filmed a Music Station appearance a few weeks ago that had just aired as part of their promotion for this single. “About wanting to be a figure skater.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said. He stared at his hands, and then back at his bandmate. “Yeah. I thought about it.”

“Really?”

Yuuri shrugged. Chiba knew his usual story. Mari, filling out the application and mailing it. Yuuri, who should have been rejected upon the second the producers saw his still-chubby cheeks and his height and weight ratios, instead making it to auditions and then getting offered a place as a Johnny’s Junior.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said, finally. “I thought about it.”

He could still remember, being ten and watching Viktor Nikiforov’s junior debut. Yuuri had watched the performance with Yuuko, the two of them streaming it over the internet through the terrible wi-fi at Ice Castle Hasetsu. They watched the entire program together rinkside, and afterwards Yuuri had been filled with a terrible urge to _dance_.

Yuuri had slipped onto the ice that day, and all he wanted, in that instant, was to dance and have the world see.

“My sister,” Yuuri murmured, the words vibrating warmly in his chest. “My sister, Mari. She didn’t ask me before she sent in the application.”

“I…”

“I think,” Yuuri said, watching another competitor on the screen. “I think that if she hadn’t sent it in…”

Chiba leaned over him, blocking his view. “But she did,” he said, and his mouth was pressed sharply flat. “She did.”

Yuuri stared back. He had known Chiba for ten years now, since they were Juniors in training. They had been in a plethora of groups together as Juniors, had been close even when placed in separate groups, and when they had finally, _finally_ gotten their debut, they had clung to each other and cried. Yuuri, at least, had cried, while their managers and the producers stared benevolently down at two boys just barely starting to grow.

“Yes.” Yuuri reached forward, resting his palm against Chiba’s forearm. “She did.”

Chiba’s mouth eased.

2-Yu-Ri was just the two of them. Two boys named Yuuri who had been placed together because they could perform triple pirouettes on cue. At 22 and 23, with their names firmly established in the public’s eye, it was too late for either of them to get folded into one of the other groups, too late to hope for anything but continued success with their own, small, two-person group.

“I’m here with you,” Yuuri promised, and his voice sounded small and distant, an echo over nine years old.

*

At the end of the men’s short program, Viktor was in first place, of course.

With the free skate coming up, none of the other men were particularly inclined to socialize. Chris asked if they wanted to get dinner, and Viktor told him he’d consider it. He left Chris making plans with Georgi and Cao Bin and wandered off to entertain himself until a decision was made.

The Japanese contestants were being ushered aside to meet the boyband that had performed earlier. Viktor followed along out of curiosity, faking an engaging conversation with Miyamoto to justify his actions.

The two Yuris had changed out of skates, but otherwise were dressed the same as they had been during their performance, in suits with sequined lapels. They made their way around the room, shaking hands and murmuring polite small-talk in Japanese. Miyamoto helpfully translated. “They’re mostly just wishing us luck. Just the usual. Honored to meet you, so excited to have you represent our country.” 

Viktor asked, “Personal cheerleaders? It must be nice to be competing on home turf.”

Miyamoto giggled. Then she giggled more when the Yuris reached her. She shook hands with both of them, the three of them chattering rapidly in Japanese. Then she touched Viktor on the arm, said, “Viktor, this is Yuuri Katsuki and Yuuri Chiba.”

Viktor mustered up his most dazzling smile. “I saw some of your performance on the broadcast.”

Katsuki said, in faltering English, “Thank you.” He continued, “We saw some of the figure skating. You are very talented, Nikiforov-san.”

Viktor preened, a little. It was always nice to be appreciated, even if both of the Yuris knew nothing about figure skating.

Chiba said something in Japanese, and Miyamoto translated, “Your jumps were very high. They were beautiful.”

Katsuki nodded, but he didn’t say anything more. Miyamoto giggled, chattered a little more at them, and they moved on to the next skater.

Viktor made his excuses and went to find Yakov and the rest of the Russian contingent. 

It was only at dinner, with Chris and the others, that Viktor realized that Miyamoto had never actually introduced him. Yet the Yuris had known his name. Had known his last name.

Viktor swallowed down the confusion and focused. The free skate was coming up, after all.

*

“Viktor Nikiforov.” Yuuri sighed, unable to stop his giddy beam as they were ushered onto the van for their radio recording. “I shook his hand.”

Chiba, politely, was only a little incredulous as he demanded, “You’ve met Hollywood stars and a figure skater is what gets you like this?”

“Chi-kun,” Yuuri said. “He’s won the Grand Prix Finals _five times in a row_.”

“Ohno-kun and the rest of Arashi have topped the Oricon chart for over five years in a row.”

Yuuri leaned back, ignoring the way his manager coughed pointedly at how he was messing his hair. Nobody would see it at the radio recording anyways, and it wasn’t like his manager didn’t keep a collection of hats in his bag just for this purpose. “Nikiforov-san is a figure skating legend,” Yuuri said, and he couldn’t help his giddy smile. “Nikiforov-san saw our performance.”

Chiba sighed. “You’re hopeless, Katsu-kun.”

“He’s beautiful,” Yuuri said. “His dancing.” He said, “I wanted to skate like him, when I was a kid.”

“And now?”

Yuuri thought of the way Viktor Nikiforov moved on the ice. He had followed men’s figure skating, unable to let go. He watched short clips on youtube when he got home from filming early, checked scores during the season on his phone between takes, recorded the NHK broadcasts to watch over breakfast in the mornings.

He wanted to see Viktor Nikiforov live.

“Now?” Yuuri echoed. “I’m a little old to be learning figure skating now, aren’t I?”

Too old, now. Too old to start. Too old to compete. Too old to face Viktor Nikiforov on the same stage.

*

Viktor placed first, of course.

*

Not for the first time, Yuuri wished that Chiba was with him. But Chiba had filming for a drama scheduled, so Yuuri was here alone, mingling with figure skaters and the press while his manager kept a watchful eye on him.

Yuuri desperately, wildly, wished for Chiba. If not Chiba, then one of his other labelmates would have been nice. Despite being a year younger, Chiba’s presense had always given him the strength to actually mingle and socialize. Without Chiba, Yuuri didn’t know where he would be. Most certainly not one half of a successful Johnny’s group. 

He had almost dropped out, gotten kicked out, left Johnny’s. Almost. Four years into training, having joined a few junior groups and performed on Shounen Club, he had finally been given a solo performance. He stood backstage and swallowed down bile until he was dizzy.

Chiba had pressed his hand, and whispered, “Yuuri-kun?”

Yuuri had stared blankly back.

“You aren’t actually alone,” Chiba had said. “You’re Yuuri, I’m Yuuri, so whenever Yuuri is performing, both of us are there.”

Yuuri hadn’t said anything. If he opened his mouth he was certain he would lose his lunch, and possibly his breakfast as well.

“Ganbatte, Yuuri,” Chiba whispered, as softly as he could with his shrill voice, caught between an adult and a child. “Can you say it?”

Yuuri opened his mouth and didn’t get sick.

“Say it to me,” he said.

He managed to open his mouth to croak: “Ganba, Yuuri.”

Chiba grinned, the grin that would later have girls flinging themselves at his feet. Yuuri would have years to grow familiar with all of the shapes that grin could form. “Now say it to yourself.”

Yuuri shook his head. 

“That’s okay,” Chiba had said. “As long as you can say it to me, you’re saying it to yourself.”

But Chiba wasn’t here now, was he? He was somewhere in Niigata, filming the latest episode of his drama.

Yuuri closed his eyes, mouthing: _ganbatte, Yuuri_.

“Yuuuri-kun!” a chipper voice cut through. “Yuuri-kun!”

Yuuri blinked and smiled, automatically. “Hello,” he said. He recognized this face. “Minami-san.”

“Yuuri-kun, I didn’t know you would be here! Where’s Chiba-kun?”

He could say a dozen things. Chiba was filming in Niigata—the truth. Chiba was feeling ill—a lie. Yuuri could say anything and it would become truth for however long the media wanted to circle his words.

Instead, Yuuri said, “It’s an honor to be here.”

Yuuri stared into the crowd. For a moment, he could hear the wind in his ears and ice carving under his skates. For a moment, he was ten, watching Viktor Nikiforov’s junior debut with Yuuko’s bony shoulder pressed against his. He was ten, and then eleven, twelve, thirteen, growing with his legs on the ice instead of on a polished stage.

“I didn’t think I would ever be here either.”

*

Right after Viktor had finished making the rounds—congratulating the ladies, the pairs, and the ice dancers, greeting the representatives from his sponsors, and saying complimentary things about his coach, choreographer, and the rest of the team—Christophe appeared, slinging an arm around Viktor’s shoulders. “Congratulations again, Viktor,” he said amiably.

Viktor liked that about Chris. He was never too sour about his loss. “Congratulations on silver, Chris,” he replied, slinging his arm around Chris’ waist and squeezing before pulling away.

They chatted amiably for a bit, champagne in hand, before Chris tilted his head over at the table and murmured, “Isn’t that the boyband?”

Viktor glanced over. One of the Japanese representatives, the one Cao Bin had identified as Minami, was excitedly chattering at one of the boyband members. Viktor had to admit that he mostly recognized the Yuri by his hair. 

“Is it still a boyband if there’s only one of them?”

“Is it a boyband if there’s only two of them normally?” Chris retorted.

Viktor smiled charmingly when the Yuuri looked over in their direction. “I’m hardly an expert on boybands.”

“But you are an expert on pretty boys,” he said with a friendly leer. “And pretty girls,” he added, waving at some of the ladies whispering to each other at the other side of the room.

Viktor hummed, scanning the crowd. Every year, the contestants were younger and younger. Viktor had been competing—had been _winning_ when some of this year’s competitors were debuting in juniors. The past few years, Viktor had been able to socialize with a small circle of peers his age. This year, only Chris and Cao Bin were left.

Chris said, “What do you think he’s doing here?”

“The Japanese representative?” Viktor asked.

“No.” Chris winked. “The boyband. Yuri, right?”

“You can go find out,” Viktor said, when it became clear that this was what Chris was angling for. “You’re Christophe Giacometti.”

Chris grinned back, flinging an arm companionably around Viktor’s shoulders. “And you’re Viktor Nikiforov, five-time World Champion. Tell me, who do you think the boyband will be more awed by?”

“He probably doesn’t even know me,” Viktor said, waving away the words with a careless laugh. “Didn’t you see him skate?”

But Chris wasn’t swayed. “Then who will the Japanese representative will be more suitably awed by?”

Viktor eyed the boy and conceded the point. Japan’s male figure skating hadn’t had a strong showing in a while, though Minami had placed a fairly respectable 12th.

“Have to greet our host nation,” Chris added.

So they did, slowly working their way through the room to where the boyband was slowly looking more and more harried by Minami. By the time they had extracted themselves from the multitudes who wanted to congratulate Viktor, the Yuri’s amiable expression looked as though it had been superglued on.

It was practically Viktor’s civic duty to rescue pretty boys from miserable conversations. “Hello,” he said, smiling his best smile.

Both Japanese men turned to Viktor, awestruck expressions on their faces.

“Viktor-san!” Minami squeaked.

“Nikiforov-san,” the Yuri said. He glanced at the gold medal, and said, in careful English, “Congratulations on the gold medal.”

“I’m sure it was disappointing that Japan didn’t win,” Chris said, winking at Minami. Luckily, Minami didn’t appear offended, just ecstatic at the thought of talking to Viktor.

The Yuri (Katsuki? Viktor wondered), said, “It was very… inspiring to watch you skate, Nikiforov-san. And you as well, Giacometti-san.”

“Chris is fine,” he said. “And you’re Yuri.”

He bowed, a little, “Katsuki Yuuri,” he agreed. “It’s an honor to be here.”

“Inspiring.” Viktor rolled the word around his mouth. “Going to take up ice skating now?” Viktor asked. He snagged another flute of champagne, twisting the stem a little between his fingers.

Yuri stared back. His mouth curved into a polite smile, and he said, “Ah, I am very busy,” but he glanced to the side. He sipped his champagne, slowly, carefully, all the while staring into the crowd.

Chris glanced at Viktor and shrugged, as if to say that the conversation was over.

“But,” Yuri said, suddenly, leaning forward. His eyes were wide, and his hands fisted tightly around his glass. “Nikiforov-san. I would like to. Skate.” His hands shook around the flute. “I would like to learn. To dance with you.”

*

The crowd was suffocating, and worse when Minami was dragged away by his manager, forcing Yuuri to mingle with people who expected him to actually make conversation. Katsuki Yuuri was the non-social half of 2-Yu-Ri—the bulk of their TV appearances were carried by Chiba. Twenty minutes of trying to make it past pleasantries and Yuuri was ready for a break. “Toilet,” Yuuri muttered to his manager as he wandered past. He had just made it past the door and into the hallway when a hand snagged his arm.

“Did you mean it?” Viktor Nikiforov asked, in English.

Yuuri took a deep breath. The correspondence courses he was taking at Waseda meant he could read English fine, but listening and speaking was another story. “Sorry,” he said, doing his best to enunciate. “Slower?”

Nikiforov frowned. “Do you really want to learn how to skate… with me?” he asked, more slowly.

Yuuri blinked, feeling a flush creep over his cheeks under his foundation. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Nikiforov said. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Go?”

Nikiforov said, “Onto the ice.”

Yuuri stared at him, and then glanced back towards the banquet hall. His manager was expecting him, expecting him to talk to sponsors and make pleasant conversation with the skaters. He was supposed to represent Johnny’s and promote them as a respectable brand. He was supposed to smile and charm and—

He wanted to skate.

Yuuri hadn’t skated since he had left Hasetsu. When he wasn’t in vocal lessons or learning choreography, he flung himself deep into ballet, hip-hop, tap-dancing, and even pole dancing. The thought of skating, after joining Johnny’s, had hurt; he had missed Yuuko and what their friendship could have been.

Instead, he had befriended Chiba, and the two of them had spent their spare moments in ballet classes, building strength and flexibility. The training would fall to the wayside, and Yuuri had known that even as he buried himself in pile and fouettes, unable to let go.

Yuuri always said that he had joined Johnny’s and walked away without looking back. 

Yuuri always knew that that was a lie.

Nikiforov said, “I got a key from a guard. We can go onto the ice.”

Yuuri stared at him. He was an idol, a Johnny’s. He had responsibilities, but more importantly he had a reputation to maintain. Girls all around Japan looked at him and saw the man of their dreams. He should go back into the banquet hall, meet more skaters, and prepare his soundbites for his and Chiba’s radio show, where he would share a few small choice details for girls to latch onto and fantasize about.

Instead, he said, “Okay,” and let his fingers twist with Viktor’s.

*

The stadium was quiet and cold, deceptively eerie in the quiet dark.

“Why?” Yuuri had asked on the way over. Why did you invite me? Why did you leave the banquet? Why, why, why?

Viktor hadn’t known. He had only known that he had to get out, get onto the ice. He didn’t even have to skate, he just had to see it. He was going to go alone, but then he had run into Yuuri right outside. He saw Yuuri, standing just outside the banquet hall with an expression as lost as Viktor’s, and he remembered Yuuri asking to dance together.

Inside, the sponsorships were still plastered on the wall. Over the next few days, they would slowly peel off, just as all of them went their separate ways. Viktor and the other contestants would return to their home countries. Cao Bin would announce his retirement. Yuri Plisetsky would announce his impending senior debut.

And Viktor…

Viktor was 27. He had spent over a decade on the ice now, learning it intimately. He had spent years winning. He had fellow competitors who had retired well before 27, making way for younger talent; clearing the path instead of getting plowed over.

But the ice—

Yuuri smiled, slowly and sweetly, as they walked closer to the rink. He said, “I’m glad you invited me. I love the ice.”

He said, “Ah, maybe you can learn in your free time.”

Yuuri laughed, shortly. He said, “I was not kidding,” in his slow, careful English. He smiled wryly at Viktor. “I do not have much time.”

Viktor said, “You’re in a boyband.”

“Idol,” Yuuri corrected. “Johnny’s.”

Viktor made up his mind to look it up on Google after tonight.

Yuuri took a step closer to the ice, and then another. He said, “I joined when I was ten.” He said, “I am twenty-three now.” He tilted his head back. “I will be there until I die.”

Viktor inhaled, more sharply than he intended. The cold air was a balm in his lungs.

“But I saw you.” He turned around, and his gaze found Viktor. “I wanted to dance like you.” He stepped backwards, once, twice, three steps before his foot met the threshold of ground and ice; he turned, and then stepped forward onto the ice. “I wanted people to smile when I danced.”

Neither of them would be skating, not dressed as they were in their suits and dress shoes. But Yuuri kept walking steadily forwards, towards the center of the rink.

“Nikiforov-san,” Yuuri said, and his voice echoed in the empty dark, hushed and reverent. “Nikiforov-san, thank you for bringing me here.”

Just call me Viktor was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back.

He said, “Maybe in another life I would be a skater.” He stared out into the empty stands. “Maybe then I would be able to stand on the same stage as you.”

Viktor didn’t believe in alternate worlds. He didn’t believe in maybes. Viktor believed in absolutes. Even subjective qualities, such as beauty, could be quantified into absolute numbers.

Yuuri could believe in maybes if he wanted. Viktor would have this instead. He walked forward, step by deliberate step until he, too, was at the edge. He didn’t have his skates, but, like Yuuri, he stepped out in his dress shoes, slowly picking his way towards the center. He swept his arm out to take in the entire stadium. The stands: empty; the lights: dim; the ice: empty except for the two of them. 

Viktor said, “Look around you, Yuuri. We’re standing on the same stage now.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am working on a boyband AU (more details if you want, but you probably don't want to hear it), and let me tell you, one thing that's really difficult about Japanese boyband AUs is that you have to take into account that Japan's boyband industry is literally a monopoly.
> 
> Yuri on Ice is pretty explicitly set in _this_ world, so instead of trying to extrapolate what the world would be like without J &A influencing everything I just decided to keep J&A. In both this AU and the other one that inspired it and is currently 5 word documents. Below are several notes about this story, but feel free to ask if you have any other questions because I may or may not have created a timeline (no comment).
> 
> 1\. A lot of people signed to J&A are signed up by their parents and/or their siblings. Yuuri being as shy as he is would never actually try to apply. His parents also don't seem the type. So Mari it was.
> 
> 2\. Trainees are called Johnny's Juniors. There are two main offices, to the best of my knowledge, Tokyo and Kansai. Yuuri being from Kyushu means that commute time would be ridiculous if he continued to live at home, so I shipped him to a relative. Now he's a Tokyo Johnny's Junior. This also means that he's more likely to debut, if you track all the data (which I did).
> 
> 3\. 2-Yu-Ri is the best name I could come up with, because it takes talent to come up with real J&A group names. Their debut single was titled 2U and all of their catchphrases include the phrase "to you" in English because that's their name that's it that's the pun I'm sorry I wish I was better at terrible puns.
> 
> 3\. Chiba Yuuri is completely based off of Chinen Yuri of Hey Say Jump. His reference to a Heisei group (Heisei being a time period of Japan, the current one we're in), is an explicit reference to Hey Say Jump, which consists of only people born in the Heisei Era. Chiba Yuuri is Chinen Yuri to the point that in the first draft he _was_ Chinen Yuri, but I decided that I'd file off the serial numbers. I picked Chinen Yuri because he does ballet pirouettes (proper turn-out!), is the right age (all of Hey Say 7 are, actually), and is named Yuri. It means also that I got to put in an Ohno Satoshi and Arashi reference. Since I have no idea what he's like, I just made up a personality so then I renamed him Chiba.
> 
> 4\. The reference to a group defined entirely by their birth location is a reference to Kinki Kids, who are from the Kinki region of Japan. Kinki Kids is pronounced pretty much exactly as you think it is pronounced. They are also one of the other 2-people groups in J&A. (The other one is Takki and Tsubasa, which consists of a man named Takki and a man named Tsubasa).
> 
> 5\. Kisumai and Ebi refer to KIS-My-FT2 (actually a boyband, and yes, it is pronounced "kiss my foot two", please don't ask), and A.B.C-Z (also actually a boyband). Kisumai does perform a lot of songs on roller skates. It's actually a thing. I regret knowing all of these things.
> 
> 6\. I took several liberties. J&A has been known to provide theme/encouragement songs for Japan's women's volleyball teams, so I decided to make them do it for figure skating to justify getting Yuuri and Viktor to meet. This also means that I had to switch the 2015 world championships to Japan. AU, I guess. 
> 
> 7\. I spent a lot of time looking up ages for my OTHER boyband AU and it turned out useful in this fanfic yay. All of Viktor's interactions are with people who are on the older end of the scale. The exception is with the Japanese female representatives and Minami.
> 
> 7.5. I looked up the 2015 Japanese representatives and how the number of representatives is decided. Japan, being in a slump, only fielded Minami for their men's skating. They're doing better for female skating, so they fielded both Miyamoto and Honda. I also filed off the serial numbers for the two ladies figure skaters lol.
> 
> 8\. Tamori and Hironaka Ayaka are the hosts of Music Station. I decided not to file off their names, because Tamori is such an icon for MSTE.
> 
> 9\. I really just wanted to write screaming fangirls with Yuuri uchiwa getting Viktor confused because Yuri (Plisetsky) is not even in the country and then what happened was bitter regret. I regret it. I regret everything.
> 
> 10\. I'm actually working on the other boyband AU which makes more sense than this mess of a J&A AU. I wrote this in about 48 hours including tapping away on my phone many regrets.
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to follow me @ virdant.tumblr.com but I can't promise any YOI content, only salt and regret.


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